Playing musical beds at my parents' house

Susan Parker

Published
4:00 am PST, Tuesday, February 5, 2002

MY PARENTS RECENTLY bought a two-bedroom home in Las Vegas. It's part of a vast, water-sucking retirement community, featuring golf courses, swimming pools, Jacuzzis, lawns and fountains. It sits on the edge of a wide, flat, treeless desert. Every house looks the same. My parents had to place a large flowerpot in front of their home in order to distinguish it from all the others. Without the flowerpot they might drive past their house, never knowing which terra cotta stucco building belongs to them.

My husband, Ralph, his attendant Jerry and I went to visit them last month.

We packed the van helter-skelter. I brought a small duffel bag for Ralph and me. Jerry packed Ralph's medical supplies in a big green garbage bag. He stuffed his own belongings in a suitcase with a broken zipper. His clothes exploded out the top.

We set off at the crack of noon. "This is going to be fun!" shouted Ralph, strapped down in his wheelchair on the passenger side. I drove the first leg. Jerry snored in the backseat.

At Bakersfield we turned East. Disaster struck at the top of Tehachapi Grade. We were shouting "Get on Up" along with James Brown on the radio, coaxing the van over the hill, when Ralph suddenly became ill. He went from animated to listless in less than three seconds. His face became flushed and sweaty. His words slurred and his pulse slowed. We took the first off-ramp into Tehachapi and followed the road signs to the local hospital.

TINY TEHACHAPI GENERAL appeared to be waiting for us. Orderlies, technicians, nurses and doctors went into action as soon as the emergency room doors swung open. Ralph was diagnosed as dehydrated and overheated. They iced him down and pumped him up with fluids. Within three hours we were on the road again. The experience was very different from our usual seven-hour visit to Kaiser's ER. We felt as though we had gained time instead of losing it.

Under the cool cloak of darkness we motored our way across the Mojave Desert, toward the bright lights of Sin City.

My parents were happy to see us. They opened a bottle of Champagne. We toasted our good fortune at arriving safely. "To Las Vegas!" we shouted. Then it was time for bed.

My parents had the master bedroom suite. Ralph and Jerry slept on the twin beds in the guest room. I snoozed on the living room couch.

In the morning we discussed how each of us had slept. We learned that the twin bed was not long enough for Ralph's frame and that Jerry did not have enough room to take care of him properly. We needed a new sleeping plan.

That night my parents took the room with the twin beds. Jerry bedded down on the couch. I slept with Ralph in the master suite.

My parents and I woke early. Jerry tossed and turned nearby while we drank coffee. Finally he had no choice but to join us. He was not a happy camper.

ON OUR FINAL evening, Jerry and Ralph took the master bedroom, my parents slept in the guest room, and I returned to the couch. Jerry could barely hide his delight. The master bedroom had a television screen the size of a drive-in theater.

The last morning of our visit, my parents peeked in on Ralph and Jerry. "Susan," my mother whispered. She motioned for me to join them. "Look at your family," she said.

I peered over the top of my mom's shoulders at the two sleeping men. Ralph, thin and pale, lay perfectly still on his back. Jerry, big, round and dark, lay sprawled next to Ralph, hands thrown behind his head, snoring loudly.